Peace Forgotten, Righteous Beautiful
by Ziva- Zia- Z
Summary: The massacre of Americans and Israelis at an inner-peace function forces Mossad and NCIS to work together. In a time when you have to be careful who you can trust, and when romance between the agencies is forbidden, will two agents willingly break the rules, and compromise their mission, at the expense of innocent lives, for their forbidden attraction? AU. MCGIVA.
1. Chapter 1

**Peace Forgotten, Righteous Beautiful **

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**Summary: The massacre of Americans and Israelis at an inner-peace function forces Mossad and NCIS to work together. In a time when you have to be careful who you can trust, and when romance between the agencies is forbidden, will two agents willingly break the rules, and compromise their mission, at the expense of innocent lives, for their forbidden attraction? AU. MCGIVA. **

**A/N: Found this in an old folder on my laptop; I had it entirely written and edited, but never posted. It actually, _wasn't even fan fiction_ when I wrote it. It was a _novel_, set in the eighties, about two fictional agents- one Mossad, the other _FBI_, originally- who are forced to work a case together to avenge the deaths of Americans and Israelis killed during a peace function by a radical group. It started out as a war/military forces/adventure/action story, and developed into a military forces/adventure/romance. **

**And, surprisingly, when I wrote this back in _'99_, the girl's name _was_ Ziva. I chose that name from a list of Hebrew names in a book that focused on the history and meaning of names, and I just _liked_ the way it sounded. Although, halfway through the book, she's called Rivka, and she never really clears it up, so you _don't know_ if her name is Rivka or Ziva, which I thought the mystery behind that idea was cool (I was _ten_, cut me some slack), and it's a very... almost _Romeo and Juliet_ feel about it. **

**It is an action adventure romance, with tragedy thrown in, of course; and, at the time, when I wrote it, it was almost... too ridiculous to even consider being a book. To be honest, my friends, family and teachers thought it was such a far-fetched idea that it would never be published; _I never_ considered it good enough to be published, and I still don't. I was _ten_ when I wrote it, or crying out loud! **

**The title of this novel was_ originally_- don't ask me why- _Texas Two-Step_, because the FBI-Mossad joint operation in the novel was called _Operation Texas Two-Step_ (you can tell which agency picked that name), and it was originally set- well, the _bulk_ of the story- in about... 1982, roughly spanning from '82 to '84 or so, and officially ends in '90, but it works backwards when you read it. It's up to you if I should keep it in the past or update it to the present; although, for me, since it's _my_ novel, and I'm asking feedback on it (or a version of it) it works better in the '80s. But that's just me. **

**So I am putting it out here for feedback; my editor/agent is interested in it, but I'm hesitant to give it to her, so I'm asking for feedback- _good, constructive feedback_- from the FF community. I don't want to give it to her and then find out it needs to be completely redone and that it's not even worth considering to be published. I myself never considered it publishable, but then again, it's my novel, and that's _just me_. What do I know? So I am turning to the writing community for help and suggestions. I greatly appreciate all feedback received on this, and I'm thanking you all now for taking the chance and reading this. This is... pretty much my _very first novel_, and... I'm giving up a lot of myself and my past within writing by posting it here for feedback and constructive criticism. It means a lot that any of you would even _consider_ reading this old, almost daydream written novel, and I... I appreciate every review posted and every constructive suggestion given. **

**And please, _please_ remember- I was ten when I wrote this. I had an unhealthy interest in federal agencies (which I think is why I've decided that I want to work for one, because I find them fascinating and I want to be a part of that world, and do good in a country that in the last few years has seen so much bad) and writing novels, and I somehow,_ some way_, meshed my two interests together. So, without anymore preamble, I offer you the novelistic... novel of a ten-year-old writer's twisted mind. **

_"The race is not for the swift, nor the battle for the strong, but time and chance happens to them all. _

_Fate's hand falls suddenly, who can say when it falls?"_

_- Munich, 2005_

_1986, April, Paris_

She pressed a kiss to the child's cheek, tugging gently on the dark curls before straightening and taking her husband's face in her hands. She searched his gaze, brushing her thumbs against the apples of his cheeks, before nudging her nose against his. He slid his hands along her waist, pulling her closer resting his forehead to hers with a soft sigh. Gently, she nuzzled her nose against his cheek, giggling softly.

"Promise me you will be safe, _chéri_. I could not bear to lose you."

Gently, she brushed her fingers over his cheeks, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I will be fine; it's not like I'm going into a war zone, or putting myself into any danger. I am just picking our darling up from school. Nothing can hurt me, there is nothing_ to_ hurt me, you know that." He sighed, pulling her closer and brushing a gentle kiss against her cheek.

"I know, I just... it's just me."

"No, it's the anniversary. Even when one gives up the badge, that way of life; the missions, the things we did, still find a way to haunt us, no matter how far we run." He took a deep breath, pulling away to study her gaze.

"When did you become so wise?" She shrugged, sliding her arms around his neck. They stood in the doorway, beneath the awning of the small business he owned. Rain fell in light sheets before them, coating the sidewalks, roads and every person caught in the light storm with rainwater, leaving behind the sweet scent of freshness in its wake. Gently, she reached own, playing with the top buttons of his shirt, her gaze focusing on the small circular disks holding his shirt closed.

"With age, with time," She shrugged, meeting his gaze and smiling. "and from you. You are the wisest man I know."

He scoffed gently, shaking his head. "Thank you. Just when I need to feel ten times older than I am." She laughed, reaching up and brushing a hand through his hair.

"You are perhaps getting a little grey- about the temples- but not much. Besides," She slid one hand to wrap around his neck again as she leaned against him, his arms clasped tight at her waist, supporting the weight she lazily refused to support by standing. "I love the grey. It's just enough that you look distinguished, but not so much that it's evident you are getting older and going grey."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" He raised an eyebrow, and she giggled. "And you, my rose, are only getting lovelier with age." He reached up, brushing his knuckles against her cheek, searching her gaze, before leaning down. Her eyes fluttered closed as their lips met in a soft kiss, and after several seconds, she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck, deepening the kiss. But eventually, she forced herself to pull away, laying her hands on his chest.

"I have to go pick up our daughter." She met his gaze. "You will be at her recital, right? You know how much it means to her-"

"I'll be there, I promise." She nodded once, silent, before allowing him to tug her gently from beneath the awning towards the curb. As the taxi pulled up and he opened the door for her, he caught her elbow. "Tell her I will be there as soon as possible. And that I love her, like I love you." He kissed her once more, before releasing her and stepping back. As he shut the door and watched as the cab pulled away from the curb, he couldn't shake the fear that knotted within his stomach.

* * *

><p>She glanced out the window, watching the rain continue to pour as they waited at the stoplight. In her short life, never could she have imagined that she would one day live in Paris, married to a man that loved her with his whole heart. That they had just celebrated their daughter's third birthday two weeks earlier, only made it even more apparent that she had been given a chance she otherwise never would have had.<p>

"Are you cold, _Madame_? I can turn up the heater." She turned from the window, towards the cabbie up front.

"No, I am fine, _Merci_. Just thinking."

"Rainy days are good days for thinking." A soft nod before she turned back to the window as the light turned and the cars started to move.

"Yes, they certainly-"

Her words were cut off as another vehicle slammed into the back of the cab, shoving it into the car ahead of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: In response to Reader's review:**

**I think I may give my editor/agent the original- or, a copy of the original- but I would still love feedback from those who_ aren't_ friends and family; ones who can give _good, constructive_ criticism on what I may need to change and what works well and what may not work near as well, who aren't as... insanely biased towards my writing as my family and friends are. **

**And this chapter and the first one are, in the original novel, one whole chapter with page breaks. However, I decided to split it into two chapters here. Surprisingly, this whole chapter were the hardest to write when I first wrote this. I found the rest of the story was much easier.**

**Thanks to Reader for reviewing 1. **

_1986, Bicêtre Hospital, Paris_

His mind was racing in circles, his heart pounding out one, simple phrase: _She has to be all right, she has to be all right._

Silent, he sat in the waiting area, elbows resting on his knees, hoping, praying, that she was okay. When he'd gotten the call from the hospital that there'd been an accident, that the cab his wife had been in had been pretty much obliterated, and that both she and the cabbie had been rushed to_ Bicêtre_, all he could do was pray that he got to the hospital in time. He'd made arrangements for their neighbor to pick their daughter up and then gone over to the hospital, where he'd spent the last hour trying to find any information he could on the crash other than what he'd been told earlier, and his wife's condition. As of now, all they'd told him was that she was in surgery; that it would be anywhere from an hour to two before any word on her condition came out of the operating room.

But as he sat staring at the white tile floor and the matching white walls, the smell of antiseptic tying knots in his stomach, he let that small part of his mind wander to the very real possibility that he could lose his wife. After everything they'd been through, everything they'd somehow, miraculously managed to escape, the very real possibility that he could lose her to something as simple as a car crash-

"_Monsieur_ McGee? I'm Doctor _Baudin_."

His head snapped up as the surgeon made his way towards him; green eyes widened as he took in the amount of blood on the man's scrubs, swallowing, he whispered,

"My... my wife, how... how is she?" The doctor held up a hand to silence any further questions, and after a moment, he folded his hands. He was older, with a streak of grey within his hair, and blue eyes that softened with kindness.

"She is out of surgery, and the nurses are setting her up in a room as we speak. Once she is settled, you can go in and see her." He noticed the other man's gaze flick to the blood on his scrubs and swallowed. "Due to the substantial blood loss your wife suffered in the crash, we were forced to perform several blood transfusions, and there was a point when she didn't respond, but we were able to bring her back." Dr. Baudin glanced over his shoulder. "Your wife should be settled by now, so I will take you to her room. Right this way."

He followed the other man down the hall towards the elevator; they moved up two floors in silence before finally stepping off the elevator and heading down another hallway. This hallway was quieter than the last, due to most doors being closed and the floor being pretty much deserted save for the various nurses and doctors administering to patients. Finally, they stopped in front of a door, and the doctor turned to him, silent.

"She's sedated, but she should be awake."

"She'll be all right, won't she, Doctor?" He asked, unable to keep himself from asking. He needed to know; he needed to know if she was going to bury his wife or take her home to their daughter. Baudin sighed, letting go of the door handle. A moment passed, as he weighed his options, before deciding that it was better to give him the facts instead of beating around the bush and leaving him to guess.

"Most likely, but these situations are incredibly sensitive. Now, we're going to have to keep her here for a few days to monitor how she responds to the transfusions and making sure her body doesn't reject the transfusions." When it didn't do anything to release the tension in the other man's shoulders, he sighed. "We've done all we can on our end, Monsieur McGee. Now, it's up to her if she survives."

* * *

><p>She looked so pale, so... lifeless. A doll, broken and battered from being dropped on the floor, only to be patched up again and returned to the shelf she had fallen from. Taking a deep breath, he gently perched on the edge of the bed, reaching out to take her hand. Her fingers were small, slender, and gently, he slid their fingers together, squeezing her hand gently. She shifted, groaning softly in pain as she turned her head; slowly, her eyes opened, and once they'd focused, she gave him a tiny smile. "Don't ever do that again, love." He whispered, leaning close and gently brushing the knuckles of his free hand against her cheek. She sighed, closing her eyes and relaxing into the bed.<p>

"I won't. I promise." He chuckled softly, giving her a small smile in return. "Where is-"

"Mrs. Degas is looking after her." She nodded.

"What... happened?"

He moved closer, leaning down and brushing a soft kiss to her hairline. "You were in a car accident; hit from behind and shoved into the car in front. But the doctors say that you're gonna be fine. You're gonna be_ just_ fine."


	3. Chapter 3

**Rifiuto: Non Miriena**

**A/N: I**n the previous "chapter" remember the blood transfusions. ****

**And a fun little note- in my novel, the FBI agent's name is actually Jacob Cross, his partner, who in this is Tony, is named Alexander "Alex" De Laurentis, Director Wilcox in my novel is Director Vance in this, and Gibbs- well, when I wrote the leader of the team, Agent _Monroe_- he was almost a carbon copy of Gibbs in personality. I just... never realized how much until now...**

**Maybe posting this isn't such a good idea... actually, maybe I should just scrap the whole thing and not even consider sending it to my agent/editor. I mean, I wrote it when I was ten, I knew virtually nothing about... any of this, and it was more for my own enjoyment. It even _reads_ like a ten-year-old wrote it! I thought back then that I had better writing skills than that. Oh well, guess not. **

**_I wrote it in 1999, for crying out loud!_ **

**Sorry, minor meltdown...**

**Thanks to Reader for reviewing 2. **

_1981, Late November, NCIS Headquarters_

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the news. On every channel, every station, was something about the bombing that had taken place in the Northern District of Israel the day before. The papers were filled to the brim with the subject, and the agent couldn't help being reminded of the 'Canadian Caper' nearly eleven months earlier, when Canadian and American efforts were combined to free the fifty-two hostages taken by the Iranians at the American Embassy. Just as soon as everyone was beginning to breathe a sigh of relief, this had to happen.

"Morning, Tim." He looked up from the paper as Leroy Jethro Gibbs entered, a cup of coffee held tight in his grasp.

"Morning, Boss." Gibbs took a seat at his desk as Tim returned to the paper, casting a glance towards the older man. Gibbs was known for being a man of very few words, and even fewer emotions. A bitter, nasty divorce two years prior had ripped the man's children from him; the courts ruling in favor of his ex-wife and her new husband to raise the former couple's two children. So he chose not to get close to anyone but Jack and Evan- two of his favorite guys, simply for the fact that they didn't try to ruin his reputation like his wife had. It was a well known fact that Gibbs kept a small flask of Evan Williams on him at all times; only occasionally swapping Evan out for Jack Daniel's.

Tim glanced at his boss again; the older agent's head was bent over something on his computer. A sigh escaped his lips, and he sat back, the paper momentarily forgotten, along with the news splashed across the front. Gibbs had always been a mystery to him- and the rest of the agents at NCIS- one that everyone was a little afraid to solve. With his greying hair- turned, the rumor was, during his combat days in Korea- and those piercing blue eyes, the man cut a menacing figure, despite his average height. "Something you need, Tim?" Gibbs had raised his head, blue eyes locking on Tim.

"No, Boss, just thinking."

"About?" Tim bit his lip, before glancing at the TV in the corner of their small bullpen office, where news of the bombing at the Inter-Peace Conference between the Israelis and Americans had been taking place. After a moment, he got up, going towards it, crossing his arms as he watched the goings-on onscreen. "Terrorists, they think. Possibly members of the PLO."

"The ones responsible for Munich?" He turned, meeting Gibb's gaze as the man joined him. The Korean vet nodded. "I thought Mossad took care of all of them." Gibbs shrugged.

"Not even Mossad is perfect, Tim." As Gibbs returned to his desk, Tim turned his attention back to the screen. So far, from what the media was reporting, the death toll was around fifty, but would no doubt climb towards the hundreds by the time the smoke cleared. As the elevator opened and Tony walked out balancing three cups of coffee and a bag of pastries, Tim grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

"Morning, McGee." The younger agent turned as Tony joined him, holding out a cup of coffee, bought from the coffee shop around the corner. With a silent nod, he returned to his desk, gaze going back to the newspaper he'd been looking at before Gibbs had shown up. Tony settled at his desk, cracking his neck as he turned his computer on and waited for it to start. But instead of snapping at him to stop it like Tim did most mornings, he let it slide, the normalcy of the action bringing comfort that he knew wouldn't last.

American Navy personnel had been killed in this attack; sailors, admirals, captains, as well as several diplomats and various military personnel. It was only a matter of time before NCIS was called in to investigate the attack, and bring those responsible down. An hour passed with only cold cases passing over their desks; the clicking of computer keys and the constant reporting of the attack playing over and over again on the TV.

Eventually, however, the team was called up to the director's office. They stood before Vance's desk, waiting for him to give his orders; he watched them, studying each, seeing the heartbreak in their eyes that he was certain were in his when he heard the news of the attack. Silently, he stood, pulling out a file and handing it to Gibbs. Then, without any sort of flourish, he broke the silence.

"Pack your bags. You're going to Israel."

Tim and Tony shared a startled glance, but silently slipped out of the room with a nod to Vance. Once they were gone, Gibbs spoke up. "Why us, Leon?" The director perched on the edge of his desk, folding his hands.

"You're the best team I have, Gibbs. I wouldn't trust anyone else on this mission except for you. I know you'll get the job done, and that you'll take into consideration the lives lost, and make sure none of them died in vain. And I know, that despite your reservations, you'll work closely with Mossad, because you'll need each other on this case. I wouldn't turn this case over to anyone but you, Gibbs."

Meeting Vance's eyes, the Team Leader glanced down at the folder and then slipped out of the room, silent.


End file.
